


Burst of Flame

by telspica (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/telspica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa feels Jon hard next to her in his sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burst of Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ASOIAF Kink Meme. This prompt was from an Anonymous source.

Sansa woke to a quiet, cold night in the second year of her winter at the wall. She laid in bed, her body numb from sleep, and listened to the howl of the wind outside the Lord Commander’s door. How many days had it been since she had gone outside? How long had it been since she had seen the sunrise?

She drove the thought from her mind and dove back into the covers, pressing against the warm body next to her. Jon Snow, her bastard brother, laid there as dead as the day or night outside. She did what she could to hide her smile, even though he wouldn’t see it in his deep sleep, and contented herself with touching him. He was so warm... so real.

And so willing to accept being near Sansa after what felt like a lifetime of ignoring her to the dark halls of Castle Black. How long did it take to convince him she’d be safer in his rooms? Not quite as long as it took to convince him they’d be warmer under the same covers...

Jon had his back to her, as was only decent, but Sansa felt the uncontrollable urge to reach out and rest her hand on his shoulder. Slowly, her eyes slid shut and she felt the draw towards sleep once again.

But, either before she fell asleep, or maybe even after she woke midway into her slumber (she could never tell when a blizzard had gone through), she felt Jon stir beside her.

Sansa’s eyes shot open, worried that he would wake and scoot himself as far away on the bed as possible, perhaps whispering this was indecent, and he was sorry. He was always sorry about _something_.

He rolled over, and Sansa’s hand fell from his shoulder. Quick to react, Sansa rolled onto her side, hoping to pretend she was asleep just in case Jon thought he had been improper, and would go on about his vows (nevermind she knows he broke them before).

But that did not happen, because Jon Snow did not wake.

Instead, Sansa felt her bastard half-brother’s arms circle around her waist, pulling her into his embrace. She felt his breath on her neck, lazy from sleep, and she heard him whisper a name.

_Ygritte._

Sansa sighed, knowingly.

She remembered what love was, and she had lost it... but not like Jon Snow had. His love was unbroken, still pure with hope for the future even after the woman who had been kissed by fire had perished in a fight.

Jon dreamt of a woman he loved.

Sansa had nightmares of the king she had loved.

So when Sansa felt something hard press onto her back, she didn’t scream and push away from him as she might have had before the Vale. Instead she gave a weak smile, even as Jon hardened more, and felt him move against her frantically.

Sansa knows it is perfectly normal. All man get them, and they go away naturally. Jon would wake up without ever realizing he had one.

But the feel of Jon’s warm body against her reminds Sansa she has power no one else has. She feels pity that a man who loves so readily and with his heart can only have the woman he loves in his dreams.

_I look enough like her,_ Sansa thought, remembering what she had been told from other members of the Night’s Watch. _If he were drunk, he might confuse us._

But wine wasn’t the only manner of drink a man could fall to - sleep was enough.

Sansa turned around and faced Jon, their eyes no farther apart than a breath of air. But where hers were open, his were lidded with dream.

Her gaze ventured down, and she peered beneath the cover.

There it was... poking out through the thin material of his sleep shirt.

Sansa let her hand fall between them, and it found him with no preamble. She grabbed hold of him, gently so as not to wake him. Still, she was wary of his eyes suddenly falling open, and realizing what his half-sister was doing to him.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Sansa could see that his dreams were the ones she dreamed of having. If she couldn’t have them herself, she would never let them stray from another. Besides... she could make it _real_.

With slow strokes, Sansa tested her own power. Jon groaned beside her, his back arching away from her, and his head rolling back.

She felt his hands grasp her hips, almost as if she were a possession he could drag into his dreams.

Sansa felt herself losing control - she did not like that. She would not allow it. Not again.

With her free hand she pushed Jon away just enough for him to roll onto his back. His hands, fashioned around her hips, pulled her along with him.

This was a position Sansa never thought she would be in - on top of her bastard brother, his hardened member pressing against her inner thigh.

But it was exhilarating, and that was all that mattered for Sansa right now. She could do so much _more_.

Sansa scooted down the length of his body and dropped her head to take the tip of him into her mouth. She lazily dragged her tongue down, hearing Jon groan above her. His hands, no longer busy with her hips, were now pulling at the tresses of her hair.

She let her hands fondle him as she bobbed her head up and down, taking him as far back into her throat as she could manage.

Jon suddenly tensed beneath her, and Sansa did all she could not to pull back - if she did, and he woke up to a mess in the morning, he might _know_.

So instead she peered up through her eyelashes, just enough to make sure he was still asleep.

His head was thrown back, and he was gasping for breath.

Sansa stopped, but his cum did not fill inside her.

_“Ygritte...”_

He said the woman’s name over and over. It was a name so alien to Sansa, but she liked it, and even if it wasn’t her own, at least it wasn’t her lady mother, and she could pretend this much for the only family she had left.

Jon ambled forward on the bed, his eyes still closed, and his hands moved clumsily to Sansa’s shoulders. Sansa pulled back, wary that he might have realized what she had done in his haze... that Ygritte was very much dead and burned, and the woman above him right now was the last woman he would have in Westeros.

But Jon merely pushed himself up and over Sansa, pushing _her_ back onto the bed. She struggled, at first, but when she felt him reaching for the hem of her nightshirt, she stilled both her whispered protest and her hands.

Jon Snow was very much asleep, and Jon Snow was about to take with his half sister like a wildling.

And Sansa... Sansa had no desire to stop it. She’d make it better.

Sansa looped her legs around his back and pulled him closer to her. He fumbled for her entrance, pushing at her backside with such misdirection that Sansa had to reach down and guide him in.

He crashed into her, and Sansa bit her urge to scream in sudden pleasure. She couldn’t wake him up - not _now_ of all times. But with each furious and wanton push against her very core, she lost control.

It was never like this with Petyr.

Feeling her end coming, Sansa propped herself up on her elbows and pecked Jon on the lips. She had no one she loved in this world more than Jon Snow - no king, no knight, no highborn lord. Her life never did follow that of a fairy tale, but maybe she could pretend with him...

Jon went slack against her just as Sansa groaned against his lips, buckling against her and filling her with his seed. His eyes, lidded before, grazed open.

Sansa looked up at a confused man.

A sated man.

And she smiled, her hair falling back against the pillow like a burst of flame.


End file.
